


happy endings

by novoaa1



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor-centric, Kid Fic, Lena Luthor Finds Out Kara Danvers is Supergirl, Lena Luthor Needs a Hug, Lena Luthor-centric, Like, POV Lena Luthor, Praise Kink, Pregnancy, Pregnant Lena Luthor, Pregnant Sex, Protective Kara Danvers, Sad Lena Luthor, also i feel like i should mention here, and well, here we are, idk what happened alright, it was gonna be short and not that explicit and not that filled with sin, lena has a baby!, lena luthor has a praise kink, like im talking WILDLY, the smut got wildly out of hand
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-29 16:47:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19023940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/novoaa1/pseuds/novoaa1
Summary: Lena's pregnant, and then, the events of 4x22 happen... so, she loses her brother and finds out Kara's been lying to her since the very start all in one.Predictably, she's heartbroken.But, as hard as she tries, she can't push Kara away for good; somehow, something deep within her knows that they're inevitable, even if she herself doesn't see it quite yet.It's cute. And sad. And cute.(Also, the smut got really,reallyout of hand; I'm really not sure what to tell you, honestly.)





	1. home

**Author's Note:**

> a random idea i had... i have other stories that i gotta be working on but this would just not leave me the fuck alone so here it is.. sorry for any mistakes; i'm gonna come back and edit it soon, but i gotta work on my other stuff haha
> 
> hope you like :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first part of Lena's pregnancy, and her finding out Kara's been lying to her for so long. 
> 
> It's sad, like real sad; but then Kara makes it better :)

The morning sickness starts in on a Monday. 

 

It’s awful—kneeling over the toilet (a position that gives her vaguely painful flashbacks to her teen years where she fought _hard_ to make herself thinner, hoping it would stop Lillian’s constant put-downs and insults, thereby solving all of her problems—she was so naïve back then), heaving up the meager contents of her stomach (she’s since kept the habit of limiting her food intake well into adulthood), tears dripping into the toilet bowl that she can’t quite blame solely on the waves of nausea threatening to overcome her.

 

It’s awful, but she deals with it—she always does. 

 

She goes to work, says hello to Jess, meets Kara for their daily lunch appointment; she continues despite the uneasiness curling in her gut, the hormones running rampant beneath her skin, the ever-growing suspicion floating in the back of her mind that soon enough (i.e. once she manages to drag herself to the store and buy a pregnancy test) won’t be an innocuous ‘suspicion’ anymore. 

 

Above all else, she continues. 

 

(She should have known she wouldn’t be able to keep it a secret for long.)

 

Really, though, did it have to be _Kara_ who found out first?

 

Did it have to be _Kara_ who found her kneeled over the toilet (she’d had a personal restroom installed in her spacious office) after the sunny blonde had shown up at L-Corp for their daily lunch appointment?

 

Did it really have to be _Kara_ who stayed rubbing soothing circles between Lena’s shoulder blades while she pitifully dry-heaved (she’d forgone breakfast that morning… and dinner last night), and _Kara_ whispering words of comfort as Lena sobbed; Kara, who Lena was already half in love with and couldn’t help but want even as she knew she was horribly pathetic for doing so?

 

Well, either way, it was, and when Kara drew a weak and shivering Lena easily into her strong arms, she couldn’t help but tighten her trembling arms around the blonde's neck and nuzzle desperately into the warmth of her chest as she carried Lena to the spotless white couch in her office—and she’ll never admit it, but she loved that Kara didn’t let her go even after they’d settled into the cushions, both arms still wrapping Lena in a firm embrace whilst she struggled to control her erratic breathing, her heart beating ridiculously fast beneath her ribcage.

 

She loved that Kara seemed to sense just how much Lena _needed_ her right then even though it was foolish, because she didn’t deserve Kara’s affections and she never had. 

 

And still, Kara held her tightly, like maybe Lena’d been wrong all that time about her own chronic incapability of ever being loved—and still, Lena held her back just as tightly because she was far too weak to bother keeping her distance, and Kara’s warmth wrapped firmly around her was probably one of the best things she’d felt in a very long time, and somehow, that was okay for the moment.

 

More than okay, really. 

 

— — 

 

It happens on a Tuesday—Lena puts a bullet in Lex’s chest, in the heart of the brilliant dorky brother she used to love so desperately (and still does, if she’s being perfectly honest with herself), and because he’s not quite finished with his seemingly endless deception and meticulous abuse, because he can’t let Lena just break while one of the only people she’s ever loved is dying at her hands, he tells her.

 

He tells her, and it changes everything.

 

_“Kara Danvers is Supergirl.”_

 

The words echo relentlessly in her brain, shredding her very being into billions of tiny infinitesimal fragments, and still, somehow that’s not even the worst part of it. 

 

No, the worst part is that she _knew_ —somewhere deep down, she _knew_ Kara was lying to her, knew exactly what it was Kara was lying to her about, knew damn well there was a reason Kara would never be seen with Supergirl at the same time, that Kara came up with such laughably poor excuses for the most trivial of day-to-day inconsistencies, that Kara always seemed to have a direct line to Supergirl that the hero in question would answer every time in a matter of seconds. 

 

To make matters even worse, she’s now officially four weeks pregnant—she’d gone to a discreet OBGYN just this past weekend, and her worst fears had been confirmed in the form of a blurry Ultrasound and a far-too-happy specialist talking about the soon-to-be fetus growing in Lena’s belly like it was a gift from Jesus Christ himself.

 

To be clear, Lena doesn’t believe in God, and she really cannot emphasize enough just how much she doesn’t want to be pregnant right now, because she’s not sure she has the guts to abort it or give it up for adoption, and she knows damn well she’s not ready to start raising a fucking _baby_. 

 

(She doesn’t know that she ever will be.)

 

No, she thinks she used up the last of her foolhardy ‘courage' when she shot Lex in the chest, a fact that still burns deep in her gut like the kind of sickness and guilt she’s downright terrified won’t ever leave—what’s more, the baby in her belly deserves far better than her: a Luthor, a murderer, a _monster_. 

 

For a while, she’d begun to think she was improving—that being friends with Kara and Alex and Brainy and all the rest of them was making it better, was making _her_ better, because for once in her life, she felt like she had a family… the _real_ kind of family, the one that means unconditional love, the one people are so eagerly willing to kill and be killed for, the one thing that unequivocally eclipses everything else in this life because it’s just that damned _important_.

 

A little while ago, Lena had told Kara, “I’ve never had a friend like you before… Come to think of it, I’ve never had _family_ like you,” and truly, she meant it. Every word. 

 

But now… well. 

 

As it turns out, Kara Danvers isn’t so different from the twisted understanding of ‘family' she’d grown to know from the start, and it hurts—it hurts like a debilitating pain seeping deep into her bones, like a kind of soul-igniting anger and despondency she might never forget, like she should have known better than to think she could ever have something so good and pure, because that’s the only reason it hurts so badly now… Because she was foolish enough to let herself believe an utter lie, because she forgot to remind herself that Luthors weren’t worthy of love, that Luthors didn’t have ‘friends,’ that Luthors didn’t get happy endings. 

 

God, she should have known better. She should have, but she didn’t, and now, where does that leave her? 

 

It’s a rhetorical question, obviously, but she’ll answer it anyhow:

 

It leaves her alone in her penthouse, sobbing on a Friday night and aching for a glass of whiskey even as she knows she can’t, even as the swirling nausea in her gut reminds her that she’s not allowed to poison herself anymore, not unless she deigns to kill the growing life in her belly and prove to the world once and for all that she really is a Luthor forged of iron and steel. 

 

(She’ll be honest—a part of her is tempted. Maddeningly so.)

 

On nights like these, she used to call Kara—beautiful, loving Kara, who would be over in a flash, bringing sunny smiles and obscenely unhealthy fast food and endless words of comfort and reassurance that soothed Lena like nothing else could. 

 

Tonight is different. Tonight, _everything_ is different. 

 

She can’t call Kara. She _can’t_. 

 

She’s angry, and she’s sad, and there’s a Kara-shaped hole in her chest that feels as if it might just be slowly ripping her to pieces—and still, she can’t call Kara. 

 

She can’t call her, because she knows what that will mean, what she’ll be forced to realize if she does; she’ll have to see that it’s not Kara whom she’s angry with, that it’s herself, that she hates herself now more than ever for thinking she deserved better, that it hurts so much worse now than it ever did because for a while there, she let herself believe she didn’t have to hurt like that, that maybe Lillian was wrong and she was worth loving after all.

 

She’s so angry with herself, with _Kara_ (though if she’s being honest with herself, that's more of a projection than anything else), and it makes her tremble upon the sleek granite floors of her penthouse with something she can’t quite name, something that roars far too loudly in her ears for her to handle, something that leaves her sprawled boneless across the kitchen floor gasping desperately for air because she can’t fucking _breathe_. 

 

That’s the problem, through it all: she can’t fucking _breathe_. 

 

And yet, somehow, life goes on. _She_ goes on, even after every lonely night she thinks the pain of her broken heart might kill her, after every passing hour her cherished bottles of liquor remain tragically untouched in the cupboards, after every time she thinks of Kara and Lex and _Kara_ and each remembrance is like a molten blade twisting deep into her insides, a never-ending reminder of just how goddamned much it all _hurts_. 

 

She’s never been suicidal, and she isn’t now, but she’s bloody well sure she would be if it weren’t for one solitary thing: the stupid goddamned _baby_ , the new life sprouting in her belly, the tiny human forming its tiny little organs and limbs that Lena thinks she might just be starting to love even despite everything, despite the fact that she’d been certain she didn’t have any more love left to give since Kara and Lex ripped it all away, despite how earnestly she’s grown back the sordid habit of despising every last thing about herself.

 

Somehow, she loves it. Loves him or her. Loves _them_. 

 

And still, the Kara-shaped hole carved deep within her chest remains. 

 

— — 

 

It’s a Thursday when she arrives at L-Corp to an office full of flowers. 

 

Plumerias—her favorite. 

 

And damn her, but the tears come in a torrential flood that she tries desperately to stop but can’t, because after everything, Kara is still trying desperately to repair the long-burnt bridges between them, and Lena has a very hard time deciding whether she hates or loves Kara for her perpetual insistence. 

 

(Lena thinks it might just be a bit of both.)

 

She’s 11 weeks pregnant now, and it’s quite possible she’s being paranoid, but she thinks she sees a bump in the mirror when she wakes in the mornings. She thinks she might be very near the point where it’s impossible to hide this anymore—not to mention, it’s also nearing late enough where it would be illegal (and cruel) to choose abortion as a means of 'solving’ this problem. 

 

It doesn’t help that Kara has been working tirelessly for these past seven weeks to fix everything—bringing Lena lunch (though not staying to eat with her, per Lena’s request); dropping coffee off for Jess; sending Lena article after article on the best pre-natal medicines, on the size of her baby in comparison to various fruits during each week, on the best Mommy blogs and chat rooms for women experiencing pregnancy for the very first time.

 

And most recently, the flowers. 

 

(They’ve long since given up the pretense that Kara ‘doesn’t know,’ because Lena knows damn well the baby's heartbeat can typically be heard by Ultrasound at eight weeks, so it’s downright unreasonable to conclude that Kara’s Kryptonian hearing hadn’t picked up on it long before that.

 

They haven’t talked about it, though, not really—even though Lena can tell Kara desperately wants to. 

 

She’s just… she’s not ready. 

 

Hell, she hasn’t even said the words to herself yet—she’s in denial, and she knows it, but it’ll fucking _break_ her to do anything different, and she’s not ready to break again. 

 

Not yet. Not right now.)

 

One night is particularly hard on her, and as soon as she’s home she’s pouring herself a generous glass of scotch with hands that tremble horribly even while she clenches her jaw _hard_ in a show of defiance (though who she’s showing, she’s not quite sure), searching frantically for any kind of strength within her (a futile attempt, she knows, but she tries just the same)—she’s sure she’s going to do it. 

 

She’s finally going to prove to everyone that she’s evil just like the rest of them, that Kara was right not to trust her, that she’s never deserved the last-minute rescues or the faux kindness and or the warmth of friendship, even if it turned out to be an ugly lie in the end.

 

She has the glass tumbler in her hand, can smell the amber liquid's pungent scent, can feel the relief of numbness just a hair’s breath away… and, she doesn’t. She _can’t_.

 

The realization shatters something within her, and before she can take a breath she's slamming the glass back down onto the counter with whatever feeble force she can muster, scotch spilling onto her hand that she longs to clean with her tongue, but, she doesn’t—she _can’t_. 

 

Instead, she collapses hard on the granite flooring (she’ll have bruises on her knees by tomorrow) with sobs and tears escaping her on every exhale, not bothering to drag herself off to bed as she cries herself into a state of utter exhaustion; she falls asleep that night hating her own weakness but loving the baby, wanting comfort but knowing she doesn’t deserve it, despising herself but loving Kara with every ounce of her being. 

 

It’s the most painful thing she’s ever felt.

 

— — 

 

It’s a Saturday when she breaks. 

 

She’s 19 weeks in (the baby’s a mango, according to Kara’s most recent article), the news outlets are having an absolute field day with their 'Lena Luthor pregnancy scandal,’ and there’s hordes of paparazzi and cameras lined up outside L-Corp (Thank _God_ she’s home and not at the office right now) when she feels it: a pulling in her belly, a shift in her organs. 

 

It’s not a kick, but it’s most definitely movement—she waits apprehensively for another to confirm that she’s not imagining things a—

 

_Yep, there it is_.

 

Before she can think about what she’s doing, she’s bunching up her loose tank-top (emblazoned with the House of El crest, because she hasn’t done laundry in weeks and fine, yes, maybe she misses Kara just a little bit) just beneath her aching breasts and eyeing her swollen pale belly with a single raised brow, lower lip trembling. 

 

“Hey there, little guy,” she whispers tenderly, the words falling from her lips before she can stop them even as she _knows_ it’s stupid, knows that she’s being so ridiculous and _stupid_ right now. “Or girl.” She strokes her belly with a mindfully soft touch, sensitive skin tingling under her fingertips. 

 

“I told them not to tell me what you are, so, uh… I’m gonna call you 'a stór,’ okay? It’s Irish, and it means ‘my treasure,’ because that’s exactly what you are. You’re…” she trails off, tears welling in her eyes, her voice turning hoarse with every word. 

 

“You’re a miracle, you know that? A-And I’m sorry you got stuck with me. I don’t—I don’t quite know what to do, or how to love like you like you deserve, but… But I’m gonna try, alright?” She bites her lip as another tear traces soundlessly down her cheek, inhaling a shuddering breath as she thinks of what to say next. 

 

“I know we haven’t quite met yet, but I’m gonna try so _so_ hard for you, and I—Well, I guess I just want you to know that. You’re not gonna be alone, not ever, because I’m going to be here, right by your side, until my bones turn to dust and there isn’t a single soul on Earth who remembers I ever existed.” A sob escapes her throat that she doesn’t bother trying to stop, before she’s repeating once more in a horribly strained tone: “I’m going to be here for you. Always.”

 

And with that, she breaks—it’s like a dam bursting in her chest, choked sobs escaping her until she’s struggling for air, tears staining the light-blue cotton tank bunched just above her swollen stomach, her body shuddering violently with every shift her tiny baby makes within her.

 

It’s too much, it’s too _much_ , and Lena can’t breathe, can’t _breathe_ again like the night she killed Lex, like the night she ripped out her very heart to end him and he tore it viciously to shreds with his final breaths, like the night she lost Kara Danvers and the only man she’d ever loved in one fell swoop, like the night she lost everything and God, it hurts it _hurts_ and she aches for Kara and Lex and _Kara_ , for the person she loves so helplessly and continuously that it makes her chest physically _hurt_ with a magnitude she’s never known before. 

 

Her vision is blurring with tears and dizziness by the time she picks up the phone, barely registering Kara’s name on the bright screen before she’s tapping at it with clumsy fingers—when Kara’s worried _“Lena? Hello? Are you okay?”_ comes over the phone, it fucking _breaks_ her all over again; a sob escapes her throat that she can’t bear to stifle while curled on her side in bed atop the covers with the phone face-up next to her, and in an instant she knows Kara’s coming…. 

 

Her heart rate slows and her breaths come easier even as a chilling sort of dread seeps into her bones because Kara’s coming for her—Kara, whom she loves more than anything, is going to be _here_ , and it’s all too bloody much for her to handle with the baby shifting in her belly and tears pouring down her cheeks and a feeling of sheer loneliness in her bones that cuts her to the very core. 

 

She doesn’t know how long she stays like that, broken and sobbing and _exhausted_ on her side—when suddenly there’s a warmth that joins her, holding her in a strong embrace before placing her gently back under the covers, then crawling in behind her while she cries silently into the night. 

 

Suddenly, there’s a voice whispering soothing reassurances in the darkness and warm lips placing feather-light kisses at the nape of her neck and the smell of vanilla bean and the forest and the slightest hint of cinnamon filling her nostrils, and it’s _Kara_ , of course it’s Kara, and Lena’s sure she’s never felt so safe and warm and _loved_ in her entire life even as it terrifies her more poignantly than Lex or Lillian or Lionel ever had. 

 

Because still, despite everything, despite the broken trust and the shattered pieces of her heart and the promises she made with herself that she wouldn’t love Kara so mindlessly anymore, she does, she _does_ , and this feels like she’s being broken and fixed all in one, like the end of everything and the beginning of something, like her chest is tearing down the middle and it doesn’t hurt like it should because it’s beautiful and powerful and _glorious_ in its downfall.

 

It’s like… home. 

 

It’s like _home_. 

 

— — 

 

It’s a Monday when they kiss for the very first time. 

 

Lena is 26 weeks into the hardest thing she’s ever faced, and they’re together in front of the full-length mirror mounted on Lena's bedroom wall, her Supergirl tank bunched up just beneath her achingly swollen breasts, Kara standing just behind her with the length of her entire body pressed against Lena’s and a tender smile on soft pink lips—Lena’s chest _aches_ at what she sees in the mirror, aches with how much she wants, aches even more painfully because she _knows_ she can’t have it. 

 

But her brain hasn’t quite gotten the message yet, and it doesn’t help that Kara is stroking her belly like it’s something precious and catching Lena’s eye in the mirror like she’s even more so, and _God_ , she _aches_. 

 

“Kar?” she asks tentatively, her voice scarcely more than a whisper. 

 

Kara hums in response, resting her chin easily in the crook of Lena’s neck, her warm breath ghosting over Lena’s collarbone on every exhale. 

 

“I, um,” she swallows thickly as another warm puff of air elicits an involuntary shiver down her entire body, but Kara is patient—she always is. “I-I love you.”

 

Kara just nods into her neck, pert nose brushing against the oh-so-sensitive skin there. “I love you too, Lena,” she answers back with such _ease_ , the words only slightly muffled by the skin of Lena's throat, and Lena feels her knees grow weak.

 

“I don’t—I mean—" she stammers, cheeks tinging with a rosy pink flush as she leans further back into Kara’s warmth despite herself, who easily tightens her grip around Lena’s waist to support her, and _Christ_ , this is hard. “I mean that… that I _love_ you.”

 

Kara chuckles, tickling Lena’s skin. “And I _love_ you.”

 

Lena huffs out a breath, growing frustrated. “N-No, I mean I-I— _Fuck_ ,” she hisses.

 

“Ah-ah-ah,” Kara chides lowly, playfully pinching the skin at Lena’s hipbone, exposed between the hem of her tank and the waistline of her grey sweats. “No swearing. Bad for the baby.”

 

Immediately, Lena’s blush deepens, her cheeks flooding with warmth. “F-Fine, okay? Fine, I just—Do you really not understand what I’m trying to say here?”

 

Kara nods into her neck, then a single hand is coming up to tilt Lena’s chin towards her, their gazes connecting with a charged intensity. “I think I do.”

 

“ _No_ , you _don’t_ ,” Lena argues back pointedly, the close proximity leaving her rather breathless even as she urges herself to maintain at least _some_ of her earlier frustrations. “I swear, you’re just so—"

 

And then Kara’s warm lips are pressed softly against hers, all rational thought fleeing her brain as she leans helplessly into it, into the heart-wrenchingly gentle kiss and Kara’s arm snaking firmly around her waist, allowing her fingers to curl themselves around Kara’s loose blonde locks, the decadent kiss deepening further and further with every passing moment until Lena’s not quite sure where she ends and Kara begins.

 

It’s better than scotch, and whiskey, and the small shreds of Lillian’s approval she’s managed to acquire over the years—it’s better than laughter and nostalgia and everything else because it’s _love_ , and this time, she damn well knows it. 

 

This time, it’s real. 

 

This time, it’s home. 

 

— —

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lena feels get me every time....


	2. wednesday, 5:01am

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lena's insecure, but Kara loves her a lot, and is there to remind her just how much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the chapter where the smut just ran the fuck away from me and never came back.... idk

It’s a Friday when the burning self-hatred reaches astronomical levels, even by her standards. 

 

She’s 32 weeks pregnant, Kara’s off downtown fighting a fire or something of the like, and she’s never felt so ugly and abhorrent in her entire _life_ —which, all things considered, is actually rather impressive. 

 

She’s massively bloated now, the child like a fucking watermelon in her belly, and according to Kara it’s a coconut and not a watermelon but she _really_ doesn’t care because it sure bloody feels like something bigger than a measly coconut, and it’s slowly but surely sawing what little remains of her pitiful resolve down to the very bone. 

 

She still doesn’t know if it’s a boy or a girl, and she doesn’t want to—honestly, at this point she’s expecting a miscarriage, or something equally as horrific, like maybe an assassination attempt or a bomb that finally blows her and the kid and all her life’s work to high heaven.

 

(Which, incidentally, will probably be the only time she’ll ever see heaven, since it’s painfully obvious to everyone with at least two working senses that she’s had a one-way ticket to hell stamped on her forehead since the day she was born.)

 

It’s morbid, she knows, but it’s realistic above all else, and that’s what matters—because while Kara may have changed everything for her, she can’t change the simple fact that Luthors don’t get happy endings. 

 

So, her hopes aren’t high. They never are, because she refuses to make that mistake again, to let herself _want_ for something so plainly out of reach only to have it viciously stomped to pieces before her very eyes. 

 

Of course, she talks to the baby still, because maybe her hopes aren’t all that high to begin with, but a stór doesn’t know that, and they never need to as far as she’s concerned.

 

And just because she’s trying desperately not to hope, doesn’t mean she isn’t, and it also doesn’t mean she doesn’t find herself loving the little treasure growing in her belly even more with every bone in her body because she does she _does_ , more than she thought ever possible to love something so deeply intertwined with the Luthor name. 

 

It’s an interesting juxtaposition, her feelings amidst this chapter of her life, this _pregnancy_ —hope, pessimism (Kara’s word; Lena calls it ‘realism’), overwhelming love, bone-deep self-hatred that proliferates uncontrollably like a cancer beneath her skin. 

 

Especially now, dressed in simple black lace panties and nothing else, when she’s tired and her back hurts something awful, when there are noticeable bags under her eyes and stretch marks splitting her skin at the hips and breast and everywhere—one of her only saving graces before all of this, as much as she’s loathe to admit it, was absolutely her physical appearance. 

 

She knew she wasn’t objectively ‘good’ as a person, knew she never would be, knew she’d never be deserving of the kind of love everyone kills themselves searching so earnestly for in this life—but at least she could keep her stomach nearly flat, and the steep curves of her hourglass figure intact, and the appealing contrast between the swell of her ample breasts and the rest of her body properly proportionate. 

 

And now? Well. 

 

Now, she hasn’t a clue why Kara is with her, why she tells Lena she loves her, why she’s bothering to stick around for… for _this_.

 

For the first time in a little while, she aches for the burn of whiskey down her throat, the artificial warmth of it gathering in her chest, the sweet surrender in losing all sense of awareness, of growing exquisitely _numb_ to it all. 

 

And dammit, now she’s crying. _Again_.

 

She’s standing before the mirror in her bedroom again, but Kara’s not here and she’s crying, hormones running rampant through her veins, self-hatred burning a hole through her very core, the desperation leaving her in broken sobs because she doesn’t know what the _fuck_ she’s worth if she’s not pretty any more and she doesn’t want to be alone again, doesn’t think she can _do_ this if she’s left alone again. 

 

That’s how Kara finds her—standing weak and almost completely naked before the mirror as wailing sobs violently wrack her body, tears streaming uncontrollably down either cheek, nails digging harshly into the too-soft skin at her sides because she hates it she _hates_ it and she wants her old body back, the one people lusted after, the one that made her _worth_ something. 

 

“Lena, hey, hey, hey,” Kara rushes to her side, one warm hand quickly coming up to cradle her overtly swollen abdomen, the other curling around her wrist to make her stop digging angry red lines into the pale skin at her hips—and then she’s laying soft kisses upon Lena’s bare shoulder, fingers stroking smoothly at the angry red skin at her side and just beneath the obscene swell of her belly, and Lena just doesn’t _understand_.

 

She heaves deeply to gather herself, relishing in the feel of Kara’s touch even when she knows she shouldn’t, even when she knows it’s only a matter of time before Kara can see just how _ugly_ she is, just how unworthy of her affections—she can scarcely even _look_ at herself in the mirror now, her bloated form, the stretch marks, the sags in her once-taut young body. 

 

“Kar?” she manages to ask through sniffles and choked sobs. 

 

Kara presses another kiss to her shoulder. “Yes, love?” 

 

‘Love’—that word hits Lena like a bullet through her chest, ripping through her very being like tissue paper, leaving an overpowering trail of white-hot molten _pain_ in its wake, and God, Lena can’t do this. 

 

“Please don’t leave,” she chokes out, desperate and pathetic and _needy_ but she can’t help herself, can’t swallow the words because she doesn’t think she can continue without Kara here, doesn’t think she can bear it if she leaves, if Lena has to feel her baby—her _treasure_ —die within her and no one’s there to hold her while the unfairness of it all rips her battered heart to shreds.

 

Kara’s brow crinkles, and Lena fights to believe that her confusion is real, that she wouldn’t leave Lena to do this on her own, because she knows better than that, knows damn well she doesn’t get her happy ending, not in this life. 

 

“Of course not, Lee,” she promises quietly, warm breath skating across Lena’s skin and leaving goosebumps in its wake. “I love you so much, and I’m not going anywhere.”

 

Lena shuts her bloodshot eyes for a single moment as more tears trace her cheeks, then flutters them open to meet Kara’s in the mirror. 

 

“B-But I’m ugly now,” she sobs, bringing up a hand to cover her own mouth as she holds back a desperate wail. 

 

Kara’s warmth is gone in a second as she comes around to gentle take ahold of Lena’s bare shoulders with either hand, forcing an absolutely _wrecked_ Lena to look her in the eye. 

 

“Is that what you think, love? You think you’re anything but devastatingly gorgeous, that my heart doesn’t stop in my chest every time I lay eyes on you? You think the life you’re carrying,” she loosens her grip on Lena’s shoulder to caress gently at the skin of her sensitive belly, “the absolute _miracle_ in your belly, the little wide-eyed peanut I can’t _wait_ to meet is ‘ugly’ to me?”

 

Lena gapes at her in outright disbelief, barely registering the unwitting tears that escape her while she stares. “Kara, I—"

 

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, the most beautiful person I’ve ever _known_ ,” Kara tells her firmly. 

 

“Rao, I ask myself all the time how you can love me like you do, because you-you’re _exquisite_ , Lena, and I want—I _need_ you to know that. I didn’t used to believe in perfection, or a single person that would make my world stop turning, but… Well, then I met you, and it’s like a bad line from a cheesy movie but I’m not lying because you’re _it_ for me, Lena, do you understand that?” 

 

Lena trembles in place, grateful for Kara’s strong embrace holding her steady, because she’s sure she’d have collapsed by now from the sheer unparalleled _emotion_ she’s feeling in this moment. 

 

“I want you, and this baby, and _you_ for as long as you’ll have me, for as long as you’ll _let_ me, because I love you, Lena. So _so_ much, more than you’ll ever know.”

 

Lena’s entirely _broken_ now; she knows she is—tears wet on both cheeks, her entire body shuddering violently in place, unmitigated _desperation_ etched in every inch of her features… 

 

And Christ, she loves Kara, loves her so so _much_ but she doesn’t quite believe those words, can’t quite believe her, not when Lena knows her family hates her for a reason, knows it’s not just bad luck she’s left alone now (sans Kara) to have this baby that she is in no way prepared for, knows there’s something utterly despicable about her deep in her core just as instinctively as she knows the sky is blue or that gravity exists—it’s just there, period, and Lena can’t stop it; she doesn’t think she ever had the chance to. 

 

“K-Kar, I-I can’t, I c-cant y—“ 

 

“Shhh,” Kara stops her with a gentle finger to her lips, then swiftly resumes her earlier position behind Lena in the mirror, blue eyes blazing in the dim lighting with steely determination, her body pressed firmly against the length of Lena’s back. “Let me show you.” 

 

Lena shivers at the conviction underlying those words, a familiar heat pooling low in her belly that has nothing to do with her incontestably pregnant body—though at the same time, she’s rather confused by it, can't quite understand what—

 

In a split second, Kara’s hands are coming up to either swollen breast, touching lightly, _too_ lightly, grazing her fingertips teasingly across rosy-pink nipples that instantly harden in response to Kara’s touch—Lena halts her own thoughts as a low involuntary moan escapes escapes her, wordlessly begging Kara for more while she leans further back against the blonde, pangs of white-hot arousal setting every nerve ending alight with utter desperation, with wholehearted _need_.

 

She thinks she actually stops breathing when Kara’s touch turns firm, when she's pinching and twisting lightly at Lena’s stiff and overtly sensitive nipples, when she’s planting kisses all up and down Lena’s neck and touching her so _well_ and all Lena can do is _take_ it, frenzied wanton noises escaping her on every exhale, and—

 

“Look at yourself,” Kara commands, her voice soft, gentle. “Look at _us_.”

 

Apprehension roils in Lena’s gut, but she does, another gasp escaping her as she takes in her flushed and shuddering figure, the stark contrast of Kara’s tanned fingers against the alabaster of her swollen breasts, the jolts of electricity shooting straight to her core with every meticulous ministration under Kara’s watchful eye.

 

“You look so fucking _beautiful_ , Lena,” Kara murmurs, lips brushing against Lena’s ear—she feels an overpowering gush of arousal at the rare curse leaving Kara’s mouth, of the way it curls so wickedly off her tongue, making Lena shiver in Kara’s grip. “So pretty, all flushed and desperate for me.” 

 

Another high-pitched moan escapes Lena at those words, that _praise_ , and Kara chuckles even as the heat in her flushed cheeks increases exponentially—a second later a hand is inching down to stroke at Lena’s swollen stomach, the other still expertly pinching at delicate nipples, eliciting another tempestuously loud whimper from her, and God, she wants— _needs_ it, needs it like she’s not sure she’s ever needed so desperately before. 

 

“Rao, I love the sounds you make,” Kara practically growls, nipping lightly at the skin of Lena’s neck and smirking when she yields so easily into the sensation, another choked cry of pleasure escaping her lips as one hand traces lower and lower down Lena’s rounded belly against the waistband of her black lacy panties, the other kneading her heaving breast with a touch that just borders on painful in the best possible way. “You’re so gorgeous, so _perfect_ when you’re like this just for me, every inch of you begging for what you want, what you _need_ , I—“ 

 

“Kara,” Lena gasps, absolutely ruined by Kara’s unyielding ministrations on her body—the teeth grazing the delicate skin at the crook of her neck, the hand roughly kneading her sensitive breast, the fingers tracing maddeningly back and forth just along her waistline, making Lena buck her hips up against nothing with pathetic sobs even as Kara continues building her up without any semblance of relief, her touch slowly taking Lena apart piece by piece until she’s sure there’s going to be nothing left of her when they’re done. 

 

“Kara,” she tries again, her words hoarse and breathless, both hands curled tightly into her loose blonde curls. “Kara, please, I need—“

 

“Tell me what you need, baby,” Kara mumbles against the tingling skin of her neck, leisurely fingers still tracing from hip to hip beneath her waistline with no sense of urgency, shiny droplets of arousal tracing their way down Lena's inner thighs as she struggles to stand beneath the onslaught of sensation. 

 

“I need—I need your fingers, Kar, _please_ ,” she begs, her vision going hazy around the edges with the sheer insanity of _pleasure_ she’s feeling, with every teasing touch of Kara’s rough fingers on her skin.

 

“Of course, love,” Kara purrs—a moment later, and without warning she’s _there_ , her hand slipping deftly past the waistband of Lena’s panties to drag a single digit through Lena’s glistening folds, ripping the loudest moan yet from Lena’s hoarse throat whilst she lingers at her hypersensitive clit, tracing tight but lazy circles around it as Lena sags helplessly against her, growing positively delirious with want and sensitivity and _pleasure_. 

 

“You’ve been so good for me, you know that?” she cooes, the end of her comment drowned out by Lena’s helpless mewls with every deliberate swipe against Lena’s aching clit. "So perfect, so beautiful, so gorgeous—Rao, look at you right now, so needy, so uncontrolled, so—"

 

“Kara, please,” Lena whines again, emerald-green eyes hooded in the mirror’s reflection, a light sheen of sweat covering her body as Kara works her relentlessly with both hands towards the peak of pleasure, towards her elusive climax, towards euphoric _bliss_. “F-Fingers, please, Kar, _please_.”

 

Kara just hums and bites another bruising mark into the skin of Lena’s neck, slightly quickening her pace around Lena’s aching clit and smirking at her wild, unrestrained moans in response. 

 

“You have my fingers, don’t you, hon? I’m not quite sure what you mean.”

 

Lena whimpers indignantly, her heated blush spreading down her chest as she bites her lip hesitantly, bucking her hips wildly into Kara’s touch. 

 

“Lena,” Kara chides, shifting her single digit from Lena’s clit (she keens audibly at the sudden loss) to trace teasingly at her _dripping_ entrance, one leg coming between both of Lena’s and forcing her to spread wider before the mirror while her other hand jerks Lena’s ruined panties unceremoniously to the side, rendering her helplessly exposed to Kara’s hungry gaze in the most lewd fashion, another pang of arousal jolting straight to her clit. “You need to tell me, love. I’m not a mind reader.”

 

Lena tries to scowl at that but she can’t she _can’t_ , not with Kara’s finger dipping maddeningly into her soaked entrance before slipping easily back out to trace her slit with a feather-light touch, not with the hand still grasping at either breast and providing an overwhelming contrast to the teasing touch between her thighs, not when she’s growing close, so _close_ she thinks a well-placed gust of wind could fling her over the edge. 

 

“K-Kar I-I need—I need you inside me, _please_ , I—"

 

Instantly, two fingers are plunging their way into her depths, the sensation ripping a borderline-scream from her throat as bucks desperately down against it, trying to fuck herself onto the digits even as Kara other arm curls around her waistline to prevent her from moving—she whines pathetically, tumultuous and miserably depraved, jerking her hips frantically against the blonde’s steely grip even as she knows it’s a pointless endeavor. 

 

“P-Please, darling, p-please, I _need_ you, I-I need—“

 

Kara’s thumb comes down to rub at her clit and she squirms violently (though she gets nowhere), so close so close so _close_ —

 

“Tell me, love. I need to hear you say it.”

 

“F-Fuck me, Kar, _please_ ,” she whimpers through heaving gasps, and—

 

Kara’s fingers are promptly sliding _deep_ into her arousal, her palm grinding against Lena’s clit and suddenly she’s seeing white, can’t feel anything but the glorious drag of Kara’s fingers sliding painfully slow out of her, then returning to fuck _hard_ right back into her, and God oh _God_ she’s so _so_ close it’s— 

 

“See? All you had to do was ask,” Kara drawled smugly, her blown pupils nearly black with desire. “Rao, you’re so wet, Lena; it’s dripping down my wrist. Can you take three? I think you can.”

 

Lena gasps as another forceful thrust takes her by surprise, and God the stretch is so good it’s so _good_ , she doesn’t know if she can take any more, doesn’t know doesn’t _know_ —

 

“I-I don’t—don’t know,” she stumbles pitifully over her words, voice high-pitched and strained as Kara’s palm hits her clit on every thrust, driving her further and further into a wholly erotic sort of delirium, the kind she’s more than willing to surrender to, doesn’t know that she has any other choice at this point because _God_ , it's so _good_ , Kara's fingers brushing easily against that spot, the spot deep within her that makes her scream every time, makes her blind with pleasure and bliss and a sort of utopia she can’t for the life of her explain with words. 

 

Kara’s grin widens even as Lena whines carelessly against her. “I know you can, sweetheart. Will you try it? For me? I know you can do it.”

 

God, it’s like a drug, hearing those words, hearing Kara asking so eagerly if she’ll try it, if Lena will do it just for her, and the answer is yes, yes, of _course_ it’s yes, and it always will be—Lena’s utterly incoherent now, unable to speak beyond the moans and whimpers escaping her on every thrust, but she nods her head emphatically for Kara to do it, for her to try, for Lena to prove she can take it, for—

 

Kara’s deft fingers enter her slowly this time, three of them, and _Fuck_ , the stretch is nothing short of delicious, the intense vulnerability so _good_ , so _perfect_ while Kara slides into her inch by inch, and God, it just might be the best thing she’s ever felt. 

 

She can barely hear herself but she knows she’s babbling, telling Kara how good it is, how perfect it feels, how thoroughly it’s ruining her, and she never wants it to stop, thinks she’ll die if it does—before she can draw another breath, Kara’s inching her fingers out from Lena’s sopping entrance, and she whines in discontent at the sudden emptiness despite herself because she’s so close so _close_ and she _needs_ it in her needs _Kara_ in her like sh—

 

Kara fucks into her _hard_ then without prelude, her fingers easily crooking against that spot, against _Lena’s_ spot deep inside her and oh God oh _God_ the stretch around her fingers is the most pleasurable kind of burn, and she’s right there she’s right _there_ and she’s pleading with Kara, needing it so badly, wanting—a moment later Kara’s fingers are curling just right within her, and oh God oh _God_ she thinks she screams then but she doesn’t hear it, can’t focus on anything but the tidal wave of pleasure roaring through her body, every muscle shuddering violently as her climax overtakes her with a strength unlike anything she’s ever known, and fuck fuck _fuck_ it’s good it’s so _good_ and Kara’s fingers are still fucking her so well so unbelievably _well_ , and Lena still doesn’t believe in God but she thinks this might be the closest she’ll ever get to divinity, because Jesus _Christ_.

 

It takes her a long time to come down, for the black spots dancing in her vision to recede—and they’re on the bed, she realizes dazedly, though she doesn’t for the life of her know how they got there; and Kara—perfect, loving, _amazing_ Kara is stripped naked at her side, stroking Lena’s swollen belly with soft and gentle movements, watching Lena with something like love sparkling in gorgeous sea-blue eyes, and _God_ , it’s like heaven.

 

No, actually, it’s better than that. 

 

It’s home. 

 

— — 

 

Lena’s daughter is born on a Wednesday at 5:01am—Kara is there, and Lena cusses her out horribly for not being the one who’s pregnant, for not being the one whose body is quite literally being split into two as she gives birth; and still, she’s there, feeding Lena ice chips, kissing her damp forehead, wiping away the locks of raven hair that plaster themselves to her sweaty skin, whispering “I love you” and “You’re doing so well” and “You’re so strong, Lee, I’m _so_ proud of you” in response to every hurled insult and biting remark Lena shouts at her in a delirium of pain. 

 

And hours later, when her tiny fussing baby is cuddled snugly in Lena's arms, Kara is there, kissing away her bone-deep exhaustion and poking playfully at the tiny human in her arms, even managing to elicit a weak laugh or two from Lena where she lies soaked in sweat, tear tracks drying on reddened cheeks, her weary body quite thoroughly spent in every sense of the word. 

 

And as she remains there, a blubbering little girl in her arms, _her_ little girl, and Kara being so blessedly Kara, eliciting tiny cries of delight from the disgruntled baby with every playful _boop!_ and wide-eyed exclamation, she glances down at Kara’s fingers laced tightly in her own on the hospital bedding, and for the first time in her 26 years of living, she starts to think that maybe, just maybe, Luthors sometimes get happy endings, after all.

 

— —

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> would love to know your thoughts!

**Author's Note:**

> (my [tumblr](https://psyches.co.vu/))


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